"Why, Jimmy," she said,
"what's the matter with you?" She took a step toward him and
anxiously studied his face. "I never heard you talk like that
before. I don't think you're well."
"That's just what I'm telling you," insisted Jimmy vehemently,
excited beyond all reason by receiving even this small bit of
sympathy. "I'm ill," he declared. No sooner had he made the
declaration than he began to believe in it. His doleful
countenance increased Aggie's alarm.
"My angel-face," she purred, and she took his chubby cheeks in
her hands and looked down at him fondly. "You know I ALWAYS want
you to come home." She stooped and kissed Jimmy's pouting lips.
He held up his face for more. She smoothed the hair from his
worried brow and endeavoured to cheer him. "I'll run right home
now," she said, "and tell cook to get something nice and tempting
for you! I can see Zoie later."
"It doesn't matter," murmured Jimmy, as he followed her toward
the door with a doleful shake of his head. "I don't suppose I
shall ever enjoy my luncheon again--as long as I live."
"Nonsense," cried Aggie, "come along."
CHAPTER VIII
WHEN Alfred returned to the living room he was followed by his
secretary, who carried two well-filled satchels. His temper was
not improved by the discovery that he had left certain important
papers at his office.
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